


Les Déchets

by kiiwritesthings



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: AU, OC(s), almost all of them belong to my friends, no canon characters, only ocs! sorry, they gave me their permission do not worry, this is an au for all these original characers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiwritesthings/pseuds/kiiwritesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a jumble of cute boys start a club, triggering a chain of events that can only go downward.</p>
<p>AKA, Cris just wants to study and finish her essay, but accidentally finds her frivolous demise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Déchets

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is not my first work, but it's definitely the first i'm posting. there's no mention of the canon ohshc characters here, so sorry if you expected that. i do hope you enjoy all of the originals, though! this is 13 pages on google docs (my longest fic :'0). feel free to post feedback in the comments- i'd love to hear how i can improve. enjoy!

Cris knew that enrolling in Ouran Academy was a mistake as soon as she stepped into the castle.

Well, no, it wasn’t a _castle._ Not by name, anyways. However, the tall spires and vast corridors lead her to believe otherwise. The people, too, seemed like nobles. Very few didn’t have uniforms-- however, their clothing was still pristine, not a wrinkle or a hair out of place. Cris, unfortunately, was wearing simply a sweater and long pants. Recently, she had cut her hair short. It would grow soon, surely, as her hair had always grown quickly, but for now it curled around her ears and almost touched her chin. Boy short, she thought absently, walking through the hallways. Boy short: a perfect haircut for a short girl like her.

Homework was... daunting. Rich people didn’t care too much about it, but she had used her grades to get in and she had to keep them up if she wanted to stay. Often, she wondered if she really _did_ want to stay, what with people lording over her at every corner. No one had really bullied her so far, per se, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it happened.

Homework, homework, homework. The library was clogged with too loud and too pompous people and every room seemed to be overrun with chatter and games. It wasn’t like Cris was against games-- oh, no, she loved them, but she had procrastinated on this assignment and it was due at the end of the day. Which was in...

An hour.

She could get an essay done in that time, right?

The looming threat of an F and an NHI forced her to look for a quiet place. The hallways had benches, sure, but people walked too easily around and someone _‘accidentally’_  spilling something on her laptop or paper seemed like something just waiting to happen. She passed such a risk; besides, the school was big, it couldn’t be _that_ hard finding an empty room.

This all lead her to music room numero three. The sign told her that’s what the room was, anyways. How many music rooms did this place need? She guessed there were at least ten, but more wouldn’t have been surprising. Twenty seemed like extra, though. Ah, it was a mystery how many useless rooms the building had.

She pressed her ear against the door-- it was probably inches thick. She never really _could_ estimate size, not really. Her guesses were always off. Science and math were Madi’s thing, and she accepted that. She was a little surprised to hear nothing-- only the faintest tapping which she chalked up to her own tapping with her foot. The doors were pushed open. They were surprisingly light, though still weighed at the bottom. She suspected that was so they’d stay open. However, unfortunately enough, she didn’t get to watch and observe as flower petals had decided to rudely smack her in the face.

The fact they were rose petals dimly occurred to her, though it didn’t seem too important. It felt like a spotlight was on her. As rose petals fell and she blinked her eyes open, she saw several boys-- six in all after a quick count. The word _welcome_ seemed rehearsed and booming. The boy in the chair stood, arms fanning out widely, and started towards her without a hint of hesitation. She was, in every sense, baffled. She just wanted to do her essay.

“ _Welcome_ to the Ouran Academy Host Club. We don’t get many young men here.” Young men? Well, it’s not like she was completely attached to being a girl, but that seemed to be jumping to conclusions. Was this because of her sweater? It wasn’t _that_ ratty, was it? He continued on, ignoring her concern. An arm was thrown around her shoulder. “I’m sure we can find what type you like, anyways. Let me introduce you.”

There was something like the sound ‘hhhh _haaaa_ ’ before a short “no” from her. She ducked out from under his arm, folder clutched to chest. Scittering away was fairly easy, though he followed her with long strides while the rest of the boys watched on. (The Host Club? What the hell was that supposed to mean?)

“Now now, there’s no reason to be scared. We can find your type. Look at our cast of characters.” His smile was so easy, so casual. Why were his limbs so long? How ridiculous.

“We’ve got the smart type--” To which he gestured to the one on the end with longer hair than the other boys. He pushed his glasses up-- sunglasses? Wow. However, when he said hello with a voice higher than she expected, she dubbed the ‘smart type’ as a girl instead. The height seemed more appropriate for a girl, anyways. ‘They’ was decided until she could ask. Ryce would approve of that, anyways. They looked up from their black notebook only momentarily to study Cris with a bored look. She looked down. “Don’t be scared by the glasses. Eshe won’t hurt you except if you break them.”

“We’ve got the mischievous type-- two of them, actually.” Said two boys were all over each other from what she could see; casual hand holding, arms around each other’s shoulders. They were in her class. She recognized them; Dade and Chan Azmi-Pascal, the two rich boys that mostly kept to themselves but entertained those around them. They were the products of two very important bloodlines. She was kind of amazed with their tricky behavior-- and kind of scared with the looks they were giving her. She didn’t notice the first one’s arm around her until he started announcing everyone again. “They’ll probably try to take you off once and awhile, but they mean well.”

As she stepped out from under his arm again, he continues on. “We’ve got the silent type-- and the boy lolita. Those two are a package.” He gestured to the tall and very short one-- said very short one was atop said tall one’s shoulders, to her minor surprise. That boy was... small. Was he even a high schooler? The tall one was all too scary in her opinion. He stood taller than any other boy in the club, almost towering above. White hair didn’t make her feel like he would do any good. The smaller one seemed to balance him out, though, with a soft face and the smallest smile. “Devon won’t do anything, don’t worry. Leon’s more of a risk to you. But he’s fine too!” The first boy clapped a hand down on her shoulder and she could feel every hair stand on end. She neared the podiums, unintentionally going towards the rest of the group. Breathing was getting a bit hard.

“Of course, there’s always me. Trist Simulacrum, the prince type.” He leaned close-- Trist, Trist was such a weird name. Didn’t it mean boring in some language? Sad? It was something of that type. She didn’t dwell on it long. Instead, she leaned back, heart pounding. Was he going in for a kiss? Jesus, she’d never kissed someone before. She didn’t want it to be like this. Her hand slid back, trying to find something, and she felt a weight against her palm before she pushed it.

It was not the podium.

It felt like slow motion, turning around. The vase-- a priceless vase, she was guessing, just by the looks of it-- was falling towards the ground. Even when she lurched forward and reached for it, the handle missed her fingers by centimeters. No, it was her that missed the handle.

The sound of shattering filled the room, then silence. She was leaned over the podium, hand outstretched towards the shards of green ceramic on the floor. The brothers (fraternal twins, she thought distantly) made a sound akin to a long ‘ooooh’ while Eshe snorted. Oh no. Oooh, no. She couldn’t pay for that-- she was on a scholarship, for god’s sake! This would get her kicked out of school. There was no way she could repay this, no way, _no way._

“I’d bother saying the price, but it’s probably too high for you to even think of. Wow, you fucked up.” That was Eshe. Cris pushed herself up slowly, folder still clutched to her chest. Her eyes couldn’t look away from the mess. This would fuck her over permanently. “And you definitely can’t pay for that out of pocket, can you? Well, welcome to the Host Club where you get to be dick deep in payment until you work it off.”

Work it off.

...Dick deep in payment?

“Work it off?” Trist asked. Then he seemed to adopt the idea like a small jumpy dog had made its way into his room. “Perfect! We’ve always needed a dog here, anyways. You can run all of the errands!” She didn’t mean for the simile to be that accurate.

“D-dog?” A stutter. God, she was so out of it. She stood, finally, though her hand was still holding her up. The podium, the shards. A _dog?_ She felt degraded. Rich people, rich people. Of course they looked down at her-- it really shouldn’t have surprised her. She was a commoner, anyways. A dog.

“We’ve always wanted a dog--” “Yeah, our nannies never wanted to take care of one for us.” The twins. She couldn’t tell which one said it first, which one went second. Everything seemed out of order to her, from the way she was getting up to the times they were speaking. She heard them chatter-- some secret twin talk that was no doubt supposed to raise her heart rate. It worked. Her face felt much too warm.

“A dog? He’s small like one, too.” Which was Leon, who she thought had no right in saying that.

“Leon, you’re smaller than he is. At least it’s not a cat.” Which was Devon, who she agreed with. He looked bored with the whole argument. However, no protest was made from him, which she agreed with less. Even staring at him imploringly didn’t work; he simply turned his head to the side, looking at another place in the room. She thought he might have wanted to sit down. Leon pouted on his shoulders, but he obviously didn’t have anything against the whole dog concept either.

“Alright, starting today, you’re the Host Club’s dog!”

She just wanted to do her essay.

* * *

 

Bags weighed her arms down-- she had immediately been sent out to buy coffee and sweets for the incoming guests. Eshe smirked at her as she went; she’d never thought she’d have to describe something as a _smirk._ That was all too storybook. Still, she had been handed money and she had broken the vase, so the job had to be done.

Arrival back at the club was... interesting, to say at the least. Plenty of women in beautiful yellow dresses were around, delicately drinking tea or eating sweets or talking to one of the host members. Cris was still in her ratty sweater and too long pants; it wasn’t like she was given an uniform to wear. She was no member. She was the... dog, as much as she hated it.

None of the club members paid any attention to her though some ladies turned their heads. She didn’t scowl; just looked away, hands gripping the bags tighter. What? She was just some commoner kid who wanted to pay off her debt as soon as she could. (Eshe had taken her aside later, before she had left for the store-- Eshe, who was now confirmed to be female, despite everyone seeming to think she was a boy-- to explain just how much Cris owed. It was, suffice to say, way more than Cris could afford.)

Trist was the first to notice her with a loud “Do-og!” in a much too sing-songy voice. His guest looked slightly ticked, but everyone seemed a bit curious to whom he would be calling. Dade and Chan peeked over the couch simultaneously, and she scowled a little, unintentionally. With a quiet and weak voice she announced she had their coffee before walking over. A crowd gathered as she approached, all wanting to see who and what this _dog_ was. This would leave her with some kind of complex, surely.

One bag was put on the floor so she could dig through the other one for the container of instant coffee. She took it out and handed it to Trist, not expecting any fanfare, but was met with many ‘oooh’s and ‘aaah’s at the plastic container. Trist himself didn’t seem to know what to do with it, even as it was in his hands.

“What’s that?” Dade asked just as Chan said “Is that commoner’s?” Both seemed a bit dazzled at the coffee ( _rich kids_ ), reaching out to touch it but hovering instead. It was like a relic, Cris dimly thought, a relic of a time they never had to go through. It wasn’t like she lived in poverty, but getting cheap things and stuff on sale was much more cost efficient. None of these rich kids probably had to even look at the cost of a product. What jerks.

“It’s not poisonous,” she half-assured. Everyone still looked dubious, however, so she started speaking again. “I can buy the better kind, I still have extra money--”

Trist cut her off with a flying hand that almost whacked both her and Chan. She backed up while Chan ducked and moved over to Dade, casually putting an elbow on the latter’s shoulder while the latter wrapped an arm around his waist. They were close, she thought absently, before watching Chan make what were absolutely bedroom eyes at Dade and watching Dade return them. Yeah, _close_. That was certainly a word.

“I will,” and then he paused for dramatic effect, which she thought was entirely unnecessary, “drink this commoner’s coffee!” And he lifted the instant coffee like a trophy won from a game. Everyone clapped as if he was doing something unheard of. This was completely ridiculous, in her opinion, and Eshe voiced her opinions with threadbare politeness and a minimum amount of swear words.

Minutes later, Cris presented a cup-- a fancy cup, too, because nothing these people had wasn’t fancy. _Rich kids_. It was presented to Trist anyhow, filled with quick instant coffee. The crowd had migrated to watch-- every member from the Host Club was present from the two tall twins to the short Leon, still up on Devon’s shoulders. Devon scared her still, though Leon seemed much better at tricking people.

Trist took said cup as extravagantly as he did anything. It was peered into, much like he was trying to look for secrets in its (shallow) depths. He sipped and the twins gasped in unison, holding each other tighter like they were expecting something traumatic to happen. Cris absently wondered if Trist’s immune system could take it. Would he just fall over? Would he die? She hoped not, though it would be another interesting thing of this day.

“Behold, Saint Dumbass survives another risky event,” Eshe said dryly, uninterested as she looked down at the black pad she was holding. Cris had no idea when she had switched out paper for tech, but she didn’t bother to ask. The rich kids were clapping, clearly amazed at the fact that Trist didn’t fall over dead. Eshe looked unimpressed, and Cris felt even less so. There was the muttering of “I told you it wasn’t poisonous” that went unheard. Another complaint sounded, though from one of the rich girls who was clearly concerned about how safe instant coffee was. _How safe._ Ridiculous. She was silenced, however, when Trist dipped her and said something sweet that Cris didn’t bother listening to. The squeals and yells of the girls only drove her off, and she walked away, Eshe on her heels.

“They don’t know you’re a girl,” Eshe said, quietly but not so much so that she had to lower her voice to a drastic degree. “They hardly know I’m a girl either, fucking idiots. They have their heads shoved so far up their asses that I’m pretty sure if I didn’t point how much that vase was, they would have let you go. And I’m not sorry about that, by the way. I’ve always wanted an assistant who wasn’t such a fucking shit all the time. I’m Eshe, by the way, though Trist made a vague attempt to introduce me earlier. Don’t listen to their bullshit.”

“What,” was the first thing out of Cris’s mouth, flat and clearly confused. Then she cleared her throat, stood up a little straighter, and repeated “What?” with much more feeling.

“Long story short, dunkass, is that they don’t know you’re a fucking girl because they’d rather have sweaty soccer player feet shoved deep into their eye holes than see something so basic.” She scowled, fingers tightly gripping her pad- iPad, maybe? Cris wasn’t sure. She just had a home computer and an old flip phone. Eshe would probably have the most up-to-date device possible, she thought.

“And... I’m supposed to do what with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you telling me then?” Cris was... not alarmed, no, but it was a louder sort of confusion. How was this suppose to help her? She couldn’t see how. Eshe snorted, which only served to make Cris more nervous.

“I just want to make sure you find this as fucking hilarious as I do.” And then Eshe turned, walking away, back to wherever she had left her computer in the large room. Eshe was something, certainly, and she scared Cris a bit. She reminded Cris of that one villain in a movie that no one expect until the end, the one making a web and pulling the strings so everything would revolve around her just the way she wanted it to. Eshe reminded her of the queen on a fallen throne, ruling everyone despite her own palace crumbling around her in slow motion, tearing itself down though Eshe remained tall and strong.

The end of the day bell rang.

Cris had never done her essay. _Shit._

* * *

 

The club activities went on and on-- Cris wasn’t sure when they ended, only that they started after school was over. The guests changed from place to place, but she ended up noticing a pattern; the guests hardly ever went to another host, instead opting to stand to the side and eat sweets and watch their chosen boy (or girl, in Eshe’s case). Cris was occasionally called to do something or another, whether it was to refill a cup or grab something that was low on the ground. She wasn’t actually sure if she was supposed to be doing everything the guests asked, but Eshe nodded at her once or twice, so she accepted it.

None of them knew she was a girl. That struck her as strange. It wasn’t like she was uncomfortable with it-- being a girl only meant to much to her-- but it just seemed kind of funny. Sure, she didn’t have DD boobs or too high a voice, but still. It was obvious to her, it was obvious to Eshe, but every other guest and host didn’t have a clue. Eshe was right. What _dumbasses_.

“Soooo, you’re the new kid?” She hardly processed arms wrapping around her shoulder. God, what the fuck, how did they get there so fast? The twins leaned on her too, making her feel even smaller. Was it Dade who spoke, or Chan? She couldn’t tell. It took her a minute, maybe less, to decide Chan was the one on her right and Dade was the one on the left; however, as soon as she realized this, they switched positions. “You’re so small! That’s cute.”

They were so in sync, it made her a little dizzy. One spoke and it went out her ear and to the other one, and she felt so squeezed. A Cris sandwich, seasoned with anxiety powder and bread that was two cute boys. They was the quietest sound of her breathing. In, out, deep breaths, listen to what they’re staying.

“Hey, we didn’t mean to scare you.” “Yeah, are you okay?” “Is this the whole dog thing? We thought it was funny, but--” “We can give it a rest, y’know.” There was no hesitance between their words; every time one paused, the other continued on without a problem, without hesitation. She distantly thought _twin telepathy_ though she doubted that was really a thing. These two... could make her believe otherwise. She opened her mouth before closing it, thinking over what she would say. What _could_ she say? “Well, dog, what do you say?”

“It’s-- it’s Cris, not _dog_ ,” was her decided reply, which was a bit weak but it got her point across. The two only laughed, arms coming off of her at the same time. Did. Did they rehearse things like that? She wouldn’t have been surprised, not with how they acted.

“Cris?” “That’s such a cute name, gosh.” “I bet you even spell it without the H.” “That’s so funny!” She felt. Insulted? She didn’t know how to feel with these two. Her anger won out, however, and she stomped her foot down with an annoyed “ _Stop it_ ” to go along and they hushed up, though Chan had to cover his mouth to muffle any snickers. Soon, however, everything was fought down and they clapped both of her shoulders with a “Later, Cris.” And then they left.

That was not where weird activities ended.

At some point or another she was called over by Leon to get something from a higher shelf. She didn’t really understand why she was called when Devon was lurking right next to him. Lurking seemed like a great word for Devon in her opinion, what with how he watched everyone from a towering height. Terrifying was another good word. Despite Devon, she went over anyways, still a little off from the encounter with the twins.

Leon pointed up to a shelf-- it was just out of her reach, she found, with plenty annoyance. Finding a stool was equally irritating, but once it was dragged over and she eventually got atop it, she grabbed the.

Tony the Tiger plushie.

...

She chose not to vocally question it.

The plushie was handed to Leon, who held it protectively. Cris absently wondered how it got up there in the first place before she looked over at Devon and the answer became clear. How he wasn’t her first suspect surprised her-- he was certainly tall and scary enough, and there didn’t seem to be any remorse with him. That was concerning, a bit, but she didn’t vocally question that either.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t make sounds of complaint when he picked her up like a daisy from a neighbor’s garden. Something like realization registered with a quiet “oh” and he put her down on the ground as easily as he had lifted her. Right... Cris was left with the distinct impression of manga-style yaoi hands despite his hands being proportional to his equally large body.

Eshe noted, elsewhere, that was one down out of five-- and after looking at Leon for a few moments while he was staring up at Cris unimpressed, she wrote down an amendment. Only three were left to know now, and she severely doubted the dunkasses would all get it before the club ended for the day.

* * *

 

“It was an accident!” were the words to leave the guest’s mouth, and though she sounded desperate, the look on her face was anything but. She was-- smug? Cris thought it was smugness, but any thoughts were dampened by the same tea staining her sweater. The guest regained her composure quickly enough, making Cris feel dumb and slow, and she sighed. Cris could do nothing. “Besides, a dog can clean itself up, right?”

Cris could tell she was blushing, but hey, maybe she could blame that on the scalding hot liquid on her sweater. Tch, she was the one that bought that coffee! It seemed ironic in the worst way. This was humiliating, and she wasn’t sure what to say.

Trist subdued the guest-- though subdued was a pretty harsh word. No, he crept up behind her in that unusual silent way she saw he did and scared her. It was unintentional, maybe, but Cris couldn’t be sure. He was weirdly quiet in the way he moved, despite the wide arm swings and frivolous gestures. Of course, she had had only one day of watching him, and maybe that would change over time, but it was a mystery.

She was being guided away. One hand on either shoulder-- two people. The twins? Her thought process felt a little slow, though she could feel her hair prickling everywhere and her hands shake. Everything had happened so fast today; every minute meant something new in this crazy club, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. She definitely didn’t like it right now, especially not as she was shoved into the changing room with a spare uniform to try on and fit.

It was a boy’s uniform. Cris was quickly becoming accustomed to being considered a boy; it wasn’t bad, all in all, and it even had a few advantages in the outside world, but it was still the slightest bit weird. Was it... was it that hard to tell she was a girl? Maybe it was a little rushed to have an identity crisis ( _iden-titty cris-is_ , she snorted) within hours of meeting new people, but it still felt like that was how she was supposed to be.

“Cri-iiiis.” “You’ve been in there forever!” “You didn’t get lost in there, did you?” “Are there any doors in there?” The last question (by Dade, she thought) seemed to be more directed to the other twin. Cris had pulled off her sweater and shirt already, but she stood standing around in her bra, even as the two pulled upon the curtains simultaneously to see what the fuck was taking her so long. Her, she thought absently, instead of him now, as they were both clearly confused as soon as they got an eyeful of her shirtless but not completely naked.

“Haha, what the fuck.” “That’s. Not what I expected.” “Haha, what the _fuck_."

“You said that before,” she said, evidently unbothered. She had gone from anxious to numb to just kind of uncaring about the current situation. What? She wasn’t insecure about her body by any means-- she was the appropriate shape for her appropriate size, just like everyone else was. It was a little embarrassing, yes, and she moved her arms over her chest in a delayed response. “I’m. I’m not done changing, guys.”

Chan was kind of shock still, so Dade pushed him out with a quiet but insistent “She’s- she’s? Still not wearing anything, dude, _dude._ ” It was met with “I know? I know? She wasn’t wearing-- I didn’t expect titties?” Cris, personally, was just glad that she still had her pants on. Sure, they were less than fancy black jeans, but it was better than just being in undies, right? She’d probably have to change into the blue-- silk? What material was this? Huh. She’d have to change into the uniform pants, anyways.

It took minutes at most. Once she had gotten the fleeting thoughts and train of ideas and memories out of her head, the uniform was put on and buttoned up. She felt like a proper student, almost, even though she was technically wearing the wrong clothes. Not quite a wolf in sheep’s clothing; an ewe in ram’s clothing. Close, but not quite.

She didn’t look bad in the mirror; the jacket fit well enough, though she knew every other person’s uniform was specifically tailored to make the wearer look immaculate and pristine. At least there was a belt to the pants. Without it, she had no doubt they’d be down to her knees, even standing with a wider stance than normal. Her hair, though... well. There was only so much to be done with how shaggy it was. She didn’t have a comb on her.

“You, uh, you guys can come back in!” Her call was somewhat pointless as she opened the curtain anyways. Chan and Dade were nose-to-nose, whispering-- wasn’t that position supposed to consist of hiding behind shoulders, too? She didn’t have the chance to ask as they turned to her in sync, arms automatically coming around to hold each other. _Weird_.

“So-” “You’re a girl?” “Wow, thanks for the memo.” “ _Chan_ , don’t be salty.” “Don’t tell me what to do, _daddy_ . Keep that for the bedroom.” “You’re scarring her.” “I’m educating her, daddio, let me teach the young’ns of the new generation.” She opened her mouth to protest-- they _were_ in the same year, after all-- but shut it after thinking for two seconds. No... she didn’t want to find out what they would play off of. The numbness remained under her skin, but now it was muted. The twins were funny, at least, if not a little... weird.

“Keep it secret?” It was phrased like a question. She didn’t mean to ask in the first place. But... Eshe did want to see the boys fucking around and finding out, so she _had_ to at least try and deliver. Well, no, she didn’t need to, but Eshe was expecting. She wasn’t one to disappoint. (At least, she tried not to be.)

The twins nodded their heads in tandem, which she thought was entirely unnecessary. The thoughts were not dwelled upon long as each took one of her arms to drag her out and show her off-- gee, now she was the _prized_ dog, all dressed up and fine. _Tch_.

* * *

 

Trist. He was the last one on the list-- at least, Cris thought. Devon definitely knew ( _devonitely knew_ ), and if Leon didn’t, the taller one would fill him in. The twins knew, of course, and that wasn’t easy to forget. Eshe was the one that filled her in in the first place, so... Trist. And the rest of the guests, though she didn’t know what would change if she was revealed. Maybe the guests would be more condescending...? She honestly wasn’t sure.

Showing off hadn’t taken long; as soon as she was visible, people practically _flocked_ to her, Trist leading the charge. Cris saw the glint of Eshe’s sunglasses out of the corner of her eye and immediately knew she would be getting no help. _Thanks, Eshe_. She couldn’t move to get out of the way; Chan and Dade securely locked her in place, almost making her stand on her toes.

“You _do_ look normal!” was the first thing out of Trist’s mouth. He didn’t intend to have it sound that way, she was sure, but the scowl that fell on her features was not remotely held back. It wasn’t like it was unexpected, but just _annoying_ , like rain on a day you know it’s expected but you hope the forecast’s wrong. He continued on, however, uninterrupted. “Oooh, we should get a uniform tailored for you. That’d be so cute.” One of her hands was taken though her arm wasn’t released, so he had to bend over a little. Fucking... tall asshole. Her scowl lightened a bit, if at least trying to be polite. A tailored uniform didn’t seem so bad. (She’d have to pay for it with money she didn’t have, though.)

“She’s always cute, Trist.” “Yeah, have you seen this height?” If she thought being pat on the head was bad, getting a double hair ruffle was worse. Goodbye any chance of a good hair day. Trist smoothed down her hair almost reflexively-- figures, he would want her to be pristine in that outfit. Only so much fussing could be dealt with, though; as soon as he started to reach to tug down her jacket (blazer? She wasn’t sure.), his hands were slapped. Dade made a noise of complaint at losing the arm hold, but she silenced him by offering it again. _Boys_.

Cris recognized the girl who laid a hand on Trist’s arm to pry him back; she was the one that spilled coffee on her. Almost automatically Trist withdrew from her- Cris- to put an arm around said guest, though she didn’t see why. That guest _was_ reprimanded, right? It occurred to her they might have done nothing. After all, what’s a dog to a paying guest?

“Don’t worry, Mae-Mae, he’s perfectly fine. Look how cute he is! And so small, too.” Oh god, he was being fawned over. He... she. Sure, she wasn’t having that much of a gender crisis, but constantly being referred to as ‘he’ put her off a little. _It’s fine, it’s fine,_ she wasn’t going to suddenly doubt everything about herself just because of a bunch of dumb boys.

‘Mae-Mae’ expressed her doubts but Trist cut her off cleanly by expressing even more praise-- Cris would have left were she not trapped by two dastardly twins. And they were flirting over her head, too, she could just _tell_. Welcome to Helltown, population one. Both leaned on her, elbows resting on her shoulders, and she felt like she would just... crumble. Collapse. This was, in a single word, horrible.

The bell rung.

Filtering out the guests was a slow process. Cris hardly acknowledged it mentally. (Which bell was this? The third, fourth bell she heard? How many after school bells did they have? Shit, how was she going to get home? The bus had to be gone by now.) After everyone was shepherded out (including Mae-Mae, whoever she was, though it took a bit more coercing), Cris was let go. Well, she had been let go a while before to help, but _helping_ was a questionable word to use, really. Directing people out was mostly done by the hosts, honestly, with Cris vaguely waving her arms to assist. (Was she a guest? No, no, she was just a dressed up dog, but when did _she_ get to leave? After all, she would have to walk home... speaking of, where did her bag go? Right, in the changing room for safe keeping.)

The doors closed-- loudly. She didn’t know why she didn’t expect the bang; after all, the door was big and she still thought it was weighted at the bottom. Still, it made her jump, and the barest bit of adrenaline ran under her skin. (And her clothes. Her... uniform, which wasn’t _her_ uniform. Where did the twins put her actual clothes?)

“Is... is that it?” Her question was hesitant, and right after the word _it_ left her mouth, everyone let out a long _siiiiiigh_ like a bunch of balloons that had just been untied. Her question was unanswered; it floated, stopped only by the ceiling in its way. It was the only balloon left-- was... was she supposed to sigh too? Was this a ritual? Did she accidentally join a cult???

Trist did finger pistols, breaking the silence that was starting to hang over the room. There was a single order. “Donuts.”

“On it.” Chan and Dade held hands as they walked away. How synced could they be? Saying stuff at the same time _without_ the guests around just seemed silly. However, no one seemed to care. Trist pushed himself off of the large doors, striding over to the couches before doing an action that only seemed to be described as _flopping_. Eshe joined him, sitting down on the couch opposite, sighing again with much more force and much more direction. Dev carried Leon like a fireman, but the smaller one seemed so used to it that he didn’t protest as it happened nor when he was set down; he merely leaned on Dev as he took a seat as well. The twins joined, finally, plopping down on Eshe’s couch, and Cris was the only one left standing.

There were only six donuts.

Was she supposed to join? Both couches could easily fit another person, even two. But... she wasn’t a guest, she wasn’t a host, and honestly? She really needed to get home. However, the uniform was still on and she didn’t know where her clothes were. Buying the uniform was out of the question-- she hardly had enough money, even without the vase. Maybe she could borrow it? She could ask. Or... she could just sit down with them. But there were only six donuts.

“Can I go?” Not should I go, not should I stay. This was a yes or no question-- one she didn’t know the answer to and didn’t want to decide. It too went unanswered; everyone was occupied with eating a donut. The wasn’t one left. She. She should’ve taken that as an answer, and she did, escaping to the changing room and retrieving her bag before heading straight to the door. The only thing that stopped her was the confused and almost indignant question--

“Where are you going?”

“Home. My... dad’s expecting me, and I’ve hardly got to send a text to tell him where I am.” It wasn’t a lie. Why would it be? Between everything she had been more or less ordered to do, there was no free time to check her phone for worried questions from her dad. Trist furrowed his eyebrows, watching her over the back of the couch. All of them were, really, and it just made her uncomfortable. “What, are you going to say I have to stay until all of you are done eating?” It came out a little harsher than she intended, but she stood by it instead of backing down. Really, that request was just _ridiculous_ , there was no way she was going to stand around while they--

“Well, yeah.”

_Wow_.

Eshe saved him, but barely. She didn’t even sound like she was particularly interested. “The lead fuckface means that someone’s driving your ass home. Since I don’t trust any shitty chauffeur services that asshat can bother to rassle up at any god given moment, it’ll be... Chan and Dade. Those two have had it good for too fucking long.” Of course, the two boys protested, for some reason at different octaves. Were they trying to harmonize? It didn’t matter; Cris was walking home, and she was leaving soon. Eshe, however, was not satisfied with that answer, even though Cris didn’t open her mouth. “No, fuck you, sit your ass down on one of the countless elegant as fuck chairs in this hellhole of a room and _wait_. I’m not having your salty sweat all over that uniform-- that’s my spare, so shut the fuck up and do what I say.”

Eshe’s spare was unusually large. Hm.

Regardless, with a sigh, Cris complied. She took a seat by the door and took out her phone to reply to the complete avalanche of words and questions from her father. Waiting didn’t really take that long-- at least, not as long as Cris expected to wait. Soon enough, the twins were hauling her up (Dade even bothered to carry her bag) and leading her out.

“She was cute, right?” She heard, just as the door closed. It was almost a laugh, and she had no doubt it came from Trist. She didn’t hear Eshe’s reply, whether that was a snort or a surprised noise or something else.

The boys took her home, somehow already knowing her address (though she suspected that Eshe had something to do with it), and dropped her off with waves out the window. Cris was hugged as soon as she came in, her dad rambling about how he thought she was dead and how he was so concerned and oh gosh, oh _gosh_ Cris, what would he do without her??? This was all calmed with soothing back pats and long hugs. Her mind strayed to what she probably wasn’t intended to hear.

6/6.


End file.
